An electrician came to my house to fix my washing machine, and as my husband walked him to the door after the work was done, the gentleman noticed Piper, our parrot. He asked to take a closer look at the feathered Lord of the Manor, telling us his grandmother had a cockatiel when he was a little boy. One day the bird flew out the front door and was missing for days, but someone found her and through pre-Facebook posters on telephone poles, she was returned to her shocked and rejoicing family.
Before Piper, we had a cockatiel named Cato for 15 years, the beloved first-hatched in our nest. Cockatiels are not uncommon members of families but the name of the bird in this story was somewhat unusual. And it was my mother’s name.
I often like to think about my mom and Cato together, they loved each other while here on earth and wherever they are today, I’m sure he is riding on her shoulder or flying around her while she sits on the beach. This man who came to repair my washer gave me a gift way beyond a new timer on an appliance. He brought my mom and Cato back to my living room, where they would sit together, she on the love seat, he on her knee. A visit from two of the souls I’ve loved most, all because my washer wouldn’t spin.
